


Checking In

by Longdaysjourney



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fratt Week 2020, Gen, Season 3 Episode 1 AU, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longdaysjourney/pseuds/Longdaysjourney
Summary: This is a continuation of my first fic,Crowbar Reduxwhich you don't have to read to understand this snapshot.Basically, what happens before this scene is:Matt's suicidal impulse plays out more completely from Season 3 Episode 1, but Frank manages to interrupt it and calls an ambulance anonymously (after first spiriting away the mask to protect Matt's identity). Matt recovers in the hospital (magic hand motions to wave off the inevitable questions Matt would face if he were ever brought to the hospital) and begins the slow reconciliation process with Foggy and Karen earlier than the timeline in Season 3.Written for Fratt Week's 2nd day prompt: Suit.
Relationships: Frank Castle & Matt Murdock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Fratt Week





	Checking In

He’d been released from the hospital two days ago, sent back into the care of Sister Maggie. Foggy thought it’d be better if Matt avoided his apartment for a while, when he’s still technically missing. Untangling the mess of that convenient lie would be a problem for future Matt.

For now, closeted within the damp, stone walls of Clinton Church, Matt flicks idly through the Braille Bible Sister Maggie pointedly left on his nightstand. To her credit, she didn’t berate him when he showed up on her doorstep, flanked on either side by Foggy and Karen. Nor did she raise an eyebrow when Foggy shoved a sheaf of discharge papers at her, instructions Claire had annotated in her neat, careful hand. But she couldn’t quite hide the skip in her heartbeat, when she registered his fresh bruises, the gingerly cast to his movements.

He’s reclined on the simple twin bed, his back propped up by a pile of pillows Maggie managed to corral from the infirmary. His hip is still a bit sore, but his headache has mostly receded. Brief bouts of hearing loss continue to plague him, however, which is why he initially misses the quiet, self-assured footsteps picking their way down the stairs to Matt’s basement hideout until their owner suddenly looms before him. 

“Red,” Frank says quietly.

“Frank,” Matt breathes, concealing a start of surprise. “What are you doing here?” He closes the book and sets it beside him on the bed. 

Frank doesn’t answer for several beats and Matt can guess, rather than sense, the other man regarding him. Unbidden, his hand reaches up to self-consciously touch the bandage that’s still affixed to the side of his head. He can’t help but think he’s been found wanting. 

“I’d heard you’d been discharged,” Frank says finally, the creak of leather as he holsters his gun, audible in the quiet room. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“You don’t have to keep checking up on me,” Matt sighs. He indicates, with a quick jerk of his chin, the chair by his nightstand. Frank walks over, transfers the neatly folded clothes from the chair to the foot of Matt’s bed, and sits.

“What is that, your new suit?” Frank snorts, gesturing at the offending pile of soft black cloth, and completely ignoring Matt’s statement. “The devil suit was ridiculous, Red, but at least it could deflect a knife. You go out in that and it’s like you’re asking to get…” His voice trails off. 

“Asking to get what?” Matt knows he’s goading him, but he’s tired, the weariness settled in so deep that he doesn’t remember what it was like to not feel it. Maybe he wants to feel, for just a moment, a different emotion right now – fear or anger, the heady rush of adrenaline stampeding across his nerve endings. 

Besides, hasn’t a certain amount of conflict always been part and parcel of their relationship? Ever since they first traded blows on that rooftop, they had gotten under each other’s skin. More alike than either of them was probably willing to admit.

Frank isn’t taking the bait, though. Not tonight. Instead, he tosses a bundle of cloth, crusted stiff with blood into Matt’s lap. “Thought you might want that back. I didn’t want to risk giving it to you at the hospital.”

Matt can smell the blood and sweat, and underneath that, fainter, the clean bland scent of the Church’s laundry detergent. He folds the cloth in half and sets it down next to his book. “Thanks.” He hesitates, “You took this off me?”

Frank nods, “Before I called the ambulance. I figured you wouldn’t want to be found with that near you. Your other outfit seemed innocent enough. Just workout gear right?” 

He pauses, then continues, “I would have taken you to one of my shelters, but you’d taken a pretty hard hit, I wasn’t sure I was equipped.” Matt had never heard him sound so unsure of himself. 

“ _Are_ you alright?” Frank presses gently, his breath coming in soft and light, as if he's afraid what Matt’s response would be.

Matt’s face suddenly crumples, with some effort, he fights to regain control. Frank waits wordlessly, his face averted. “I’m just really tired,” Matt finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. He suddenly feels exposed, wrung out. “Wh-when you said you were tired, that day at the cemetery. I-I know a little something of what that’s like.”

Frank’s quiet and for a while, the only sounds echoing in that underground chamber are the small hitches in Matt’s breathing. Then, “That night I found you, was that the first time you tried something like that?” Matt couldn’t pin down Frank’s tone, it was slippery, like a fish – his voice tight. 

“Yes.” Matt stops, then amends it with, “Maybe?” He fiddles with the corner of the blanket he’s sitting on, the coarse weave giving way under his nervous fingers, “Foggy’s always said I had a death wish.” He sighs, “I don’t know, maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s what this…” he gestures to himself, “…what Daredevil is.”

“Come on,” Frank chides, pulling his chair closer to the bed, “Now I know that’s not true. You care about people. That dedication, going out every night, fighting the good fight – it can’t just be some long-play suicidal wish fulfillment. The suit – whatever form it takes – it _means_ something to people, to you.”

When Matt doesn’t respond, Frank continues, “And you have people who care about you – Nelson, Karen, that nun who’s putting up with your crap.” Frank shifts a little in his seat, falling silent.

“ _And me_ ,” Matt thinks he hears, in the space between them, Frank’s unspoken words. 

The spell is suddenly broken. There's a sound of a chair being pushed back, steel legs scraping the hard, stone floor. “I gotta go right now, but I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

Matt nods slowly, thoughtful. “Thanks. For checking in… And for the other night.”

Frank makes a noise of acknowledgement and disappears up the stairs, his footsteps fading as he reaches the gate at the top.

“And what about you, Frank, do _you_ have people?” Matt wonders, picking up the Bible again and flipping to the page he had left off on when his evening was interrupted. 

Somewhere, somehow, he hopes the answer is yes.

**Author's Note:**

> A short piece of pure self indulgence and some practice writing dialogue. Hopefully my ear isn't too tin ;) 
> 
> Also, it's fun to write in response to prompts. Indirect thanks to [Eledhwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen), whose pitch perfect [Stick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293560) entry, inspired me to give this a whirl.
> 
> And thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC), for organizing another fun event!


End file.
